Worth the money

Back in November, Pudge started getting sick. At first, I thought it was her normal hairball or ate-too-fast sick. Then I started to see a difference. When I noticed she was following me all over – and then my housemate when I wasn’t home – I realized something more might be up.

So, we went to the vet, which Pudge just loves to do. You’d think it would be easy for a grown woman to put six pounds of fur into a pet carrier – but it you’d be wrong.

Turned out, Pudge had a bacterial infection in her kidney and was severely dehydrated. The vet assured me I wasn’t a bad cat-mom. She said cats are famous for hiding when something is wrong, and we only find out when it’s gotten very bad. I still felt terrible.

They asked me to wait while the bloodwork and urinalysis were run. I suspected (and it was later confirmed) that the vet asked me to stay because there was the possibility that Pudge’s kidneys were failing, and given her age, some decisions might have to be made.

The thought made my eyes swell with tears.

At home, I couldn't get her in the carrier; at the vet, I couldn't get her out. She's stubborn and difficult. No idea where she gets it.

In the end, the test results showed an infection that was treatable. The vet recommended in-patient treatment for the dehydration. The much-less-expensive alternative was that I take Pudge home and administer IV treatments myself a couple times a day. The problem with that was that she would (naturally) resist, and the process would be less comfortable and take a lot longer. It would cost less, but really only if you don’t factor in the copay I’d have to give the hospital for the blood transfusion. (Though I’d never advocate declawing a cat, there’s something to be said for a cat who can’t scratch!)

After one panicked text to Pudge’s Grandpa, I instructed the vet to keep my princess for three days, and make her better.

They did. Pudge came home after three days, still a little tired and reserved. She was on an antibiotic and a vitamin supplement, both to be administered by drops orally.

At first, it was fine. By the tenth day, Pudge was back to struggling, hissing and scratching when I gave her the medicine. She was back to swatting at Joe when he tried to mess with her. She was back to booting him out of her place on the sofa, and away from the food when she was hungry.

My princess was back. I don’t want to even discuss the bill – she’s worth every penny. Pudge under my tree was the best Christmas present I could have received.